Tuesday, October 25, 2011

When I drive by Colin’s house, I still look to see what cars are in the driveway.

When I drive by Colin’s job, I still check the parking lot to see if he’s there.

When I played in the league that he runs last winter, every week was an exercise in holding my breath and holding my tongue. Hoping that he wasn’t there. Hoping that he wouldn’t see me. Hoping that I could get in and get out without a word passing between us.

“Hey there, Sunshine,” he said to me at one of the games. I wrote about it when it happened. It pissed me off. When I think about it now, it still pisses me off. Sunshine. It sounds cute until you know him. Until you spend years on and off and on again, observing all of his bullshit behaviors. Including substituting Sunshine for the name of any female whose name you don’t know.

My name? Is not Sunshine. He knows my damn name.

His name? As much as I would like to, I haven’t forgotten it, either.

Do you guys remember how it ended? When – just after his birthday and just before Christmas – he disappeared? He stopped calling and stopped texting and stopped emailing and, of course, never returned any of the sort from me.

I had been around for years at that point. Years. And instead of tell me that it was over. Or explain that he needed a little bit of space. Or have the guts to explain what was going on in his life. He just disappeared. As though he could slip out of my life unnoticed.

And it continues to haunt me.

It’s always the same fear. With every guy who has been in my life since Colin, it is always the same. I assume that they are cowards. That they couldn’t possibly ends things respectfully. That one day they will disappear. Without warning. Without explanation. Because I don’t deserve that courtesy. Because I’ll figure it out eventually.

I hate that.

Any time that The Coach is busy (he’s in the meaty part of his season now and he is quite in demand and my head knows this even though my heart oftentimes does not) – even if it is just for a few hours – I hold my breath. And every text message that sits at the top of my inbox, I assume is The Very Last One Ever until my phone chirps at the receipt of another, be it a minute or a day later.

And still I haven’t programmed The Coach's number into my phone. To spare myself the indignity of deleting it out after he disappears. Because don’t they all disappear?

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comments:

It's time to get past Colin!!! He obviously meant a lot to you at the time, but it was a long time ago, and it is completely irrational, and unfair to other boys, to hold them accountable for his being a douche.

I feel like, even at the time, you knew he was a jackass. So that should be your lesson...that you should listen to your instincts, not that boys will flake on you.

I TOTALLY agree with AM, but...huge BUT....the reality is, you might never fully shake him. I think when someone you love and trust breaks your heart, I think it does some form of permanent damage that we just have to find a way to learn to make the best of - LEARN from those awful horrible mistakes.

Make not being able to shake him is a good thing, because its a reminder of what you DONT want again, and also a reminder that when love IS right, you will appreciate it and not take it for granted.

I think of my ex often, but it's never ever in a good light. Its when The Architect does something wonderful, and I'm reminded of how my ex NEVER did something like that (ie: leave a love note, wash the dishes, walk the dog, etc) and it makes me gush appreciation and love all over him, because I want him to know how WONDERFUL he is. I'm afriad if I hadn't been with a jackass for so long, I would take The Architect for granted.

Hi. I'm A.

Born, raised, educated in the Midwest, I am such a Midwesterner. So Midwestern, if you will.

I am: a blogger of 8+ years, forever searching for my next athletic challenge, hopelessly overscheduled and always, always eating.

I started So Midwestern right after I graduated from college, hoping to chronicle my transition to adulthood. Graduate school, four half marathons, two new nephews, three apartments, a trip to Africa, a sprinkle of heartbreak, dozens of unfinished knitting projects, four turns as a bridesmaid, 8,913 job applications and two full-time positions later: I’m fairly convinced that the day when I feel like a legitimate, full-fledged grownup will never come. So I’ll just keep on blogging.

I write about a little bit of everything and a lot of nothing. Toss my ramblings with a few pictures, a touch of swearing and an endless appreciation for the beauty that is David Beckham and you have So Midwestern. Welcome.